Irony in Insanity
by heartlessromantic667
Summary: Just a story I wrote to pass the time... it explains what I think happened to the Joker, and how he got his scars. It's in his POV. Strong language.


Joker Story:

"To the world I am just a sadistic psychopath. People ask me if I've been to the asylum, the funny farm, that certain happy place. I just stare at them with blank eyes, and smile goofily. Why does it matter? This chaotic world in which we live in needs a bit of me, a bit of laughter, a bit of… insanity. Why so serious? I always ask, yet sometimes I have to contemplate my words, taste them, like the blood and the sweat of the victims I have previously man slaughtered, tortured, killed. It all seems to be the same thing, they're just sad souls anyways, why not end their pain? Why do we need their pessimism to dampen our moods?" I ask with a sly smile, almost all the makeup I wear washed away with sweat; the only effect that this night had on me. Here I was, sitting in the questioning room, admitting that I have done all these crimes, that I've murdered countless people. I lost track after the age 17….

"Mr. Napier-"

"Don't call me that," I warned, glaring at "Officer Gordon". He did a hell of a job at protecting Gotham… maybe I'd make it a little easier for them to catch me. Maybe I actually would allow them to take me into custody.

"Why not_, Jack_?" Gordon mockingly asked me, adding emphasis to my name. My blood boiled, rushing violently through my veins, I took a deep breath and exhaled with a laugh. They called me "The Joker" after all.

I don't know why that was bothering me; I don't even remember my life before that… at least I don't need to. To the world I had no past, I'm just a cold, evil man. I wonder what they would do when they found out _why_ I did this… what had started my killing spree and blood lust. Not just my love of mind games and puzzles… oh there was so much more. I hate families, I hate seeing them smiling, I could just butcher them all. Yet… as I thought of the pure loathe I felt against the world of mothers, fathers, and children, I couldn't help but remember my childhood, and cringed.

"Which would you prefer?" Gordon questioned, I scoffed and smirked, tracing the scars that I have had for so long, since I was… young. The years didn't matter; I was never good with dates, anyway.

"I would prefer to be called Joe Kehr… get it?" I watched with half closed eyes as Gordon actually smiled a bit, while I just carried on with that maniacal cackle of mine… that really did get old.

"I have a question for you," Gordon more stated than inquired. I raised my eyebrows, leaning back in the chair.

"What am I supposed to say? Oh, do ask, do tell me!" I spat sarcastically, tapping my fingers against the table. This room was really cold. "Can you crank up the heat or something?" Yet James, or _Officer Gordon_ I should say, ignored me. I sighed and waited for him to quit pondering on this most likely ridiculous inquiry he was going to force out of his vocal chords. And to be frank, I didn't care; I didn't give a shit what he's going to ask me. It'll be just some dirt-fed lie, anyway.

"Why… what got you started into becoming "The Joker" and killing people? What influenced you to kill innocent people?" I stared at him, and for once, this question was the one I have been… waiting for? I haven't answered this yet, and I took a deep breath, no annoying snicker. This was serious. What would I say? I wasn't prepared for this.

"Shit." I murmured, then glanced up to see Gordon gazing at me with curiosity, was he waiting for an honest answer? "Do you want me to go into a sob-story about how fucked up my family was, how fucked up my god-damned father was? Because that's not what I'm going to do." I trailed off, closing my eyes briefly. This is the part of a movie where you'd expect to see the main character's current memory. But that wasn't going to happen, was that even real?

"Then what? There couldn't have been peer pressure; clearly something happened in your childhood that caused you to become a serial killer." Gordon pressured, I groaned in annoyance, burying my head in my hands.

"Fine, fine, fine, fine, FINE!" I shouted, making the stupid cop jump at my sudden heightened voice. "You really want to know, don't you? You actually care, that's a first, and I think I may actually tell you." I mumbled quickly, ignoring the beckoning call of the memories I had locked up those many years ago; begging for me to view them once again. But I didn't want to; I didn't want to go back. "Do you want to know how I got these scars? Do you want to know why I am called "The Joker"?" Gordon nodded and I bit my lip, hesitantly allowing the bitter memories to seep into my mind.

_**Great, we're actually doing the Flashback thing. I always thought that was ridiculously stupid…**_

The dingy walls surrounded me were thin, almost paper-like. I could hear the voices of my neighbors from both sides. These crummy apartments my parents had moved into were my current home, where I would reside for the first part of my life. No matter what, your home is supposed to make you feel loved and comforted, but suicide would be a better welcome than having to co-exist with my creators for just 1 more year. I sighed sadly, trying to block out the loud sounds coming from the neighbor's apartment to my left… I never understood why they fornicated in the middle of the day….

I jumped, hearing the loud crash coming from outside of my room. I heard my mother and father screaming at each other once again. I felt tears of acid burn my eyes and I curled up in my dirty, faded gray sheets. So much for warmth in the middle of January. I gazed at the white walls, with cracks and holes in them. Spiders crawled at the ceiling, and I could hear the squeaking and scratching of mice within the walls. I've been used to waking up with arachnids and rodents surrounding me and my bed for about 11 years now. I was also used to falling asleep to my parents ceaseless fighting, there is not a memory I have that they didn't fight.

I was always the outcast, yet the class-clown as well. However, I dropped out of school last year, when I was 16. I had better things to do than waste my time on an education that I wasn't going to use. No one had high expectations of me; my parents didn't even want me. I had dark humor, and was always sarcastic, which got me in trouble a lot. I looked like a druggie, though I've never done drugs; true fact.

"Jack!" My ears perked to the sudden shriek of my mom. I heard the sound of a thud outside of my room, and I knew what was happening. Another night where my creators were going to battle it out with their fists.

I actually cared somewhat about my mother, so I sluggishly rolled out of the broken twin mattress that I slept on and dragged my exhausted body to the door. I cringed when smelling a coppery scent; it was so strong, that I thought I would throw up. Turning the door knob of my room, I pulled open the door in awe, and stared in horror at the sight before my eyes.

"Jack," My dad growled, glaring up at me as he was crouched on the floor. Now I realized that the copper scent was blood; my mother's blood. I wasn't sure if my father knew what he had done. Clearly he was drunk, yet not as intoxicated as he usually was. "Oh, Jackie boy, your mother should have learned." I glared at him and backed away cautiously. He was insane, he was crazy, and I hated that filthy bastard. Who would've guessed that I would've turned out to be exactly like him? I wouldn't have thought that I would be insane, that I would be a psychopath.

"Stay away from me…" I whimpered, slamming my bedroom door shut. I locked the door and scrounged around my cluttered room for the phone. I ran my hands through my hair, feeling my breath catch in my lungs as a knife scraped against my door. I bit my lip anxiously as I tossed the baggy and dirty clothes on the other side of the room, only to be thrown back where they were. I cursed in my head and slammed my fist against the wall, taking out all of my anger; I needed to call the police. But I can't go out there; my own father would chop me up. We lived on the 10th floor of the apartment building, and unless I was looking to end up being red splatter paint on the sidewalk, I wouldn't jump. I gasped and crawled quickly in the corner of my room, behind my dresser as I heard the hinges of the door break.

I searched around the area for a weapon, yet the only protection I found was my own hands. My dead-beat father would be able to find me, of course, yet at least I had time to plan out my next moves. He stared at me as I sat huddled in the corner, and he cackled… my cackle. I slowly stood up, standing just about two inches shorter than him. As I was about to take a swing at his jaw, he twisted my wrist around, and I howled in agony as the bone popped. His other hand squeezed my neck and I gasped for air. My dad shoved me against the wall, making sure my head hit first. I closed my eyes, I couldn't take this.

"Why so serious, boy? Why so fucking serious?! You need to smile more; you have so much to be happy for! Quit moping around like you're a poor child, and fucking SMILE!" My dad hissed in my ear, I winced when he screamed the words, feeling my eardrums shake. He grabbed my right hand, made me grip the handle of the knife, and his callused hand crushed mine. With his other hand, he pried open my mouth and my eyes widened in fear. He was going to force me to cut myself… my father was a madman. "Do you want to smile?" I shook my head, and he placed the black against the corner of my mouth. "Wrong answer, you piece of shit." I wailed as he sliced the right side of my mouth, with my own hand. I felt the blood flow quickly and he laughed. "Don't be such a pussy, take it like a man. You're going to actually let me go through with this?" He growled, turning the blade so it was pressed against the opposite side. I whimpered and could taste the blood as some spilled into my mouth. As he cut into my jaw again, I was going to get my revenge. I wouldn't let him get away with this.

I tried to speak, yet I found I was unable to because of the slits in my mouth. I didn't care about my heavily bleeding wounds; I grabbed the blade from my dad's hand, twisted it around, and stabbed it in his chest. I laughed as I watched him gasp, and when I sliced down his chest to his stomach, I watched in awe as the river of blood flowed. He was dead, yet I wasn't going to quit now. This was my revenge, and I craved for him to get what he deserved.

I left the mess of the two corpses of the people I loathed the most in this world behind. Before leaving however, I dug through one of my dressers, and stared at a deck of cards. I pulled out a Jack of Hearts, yet tossed the card back into the pile. I tried to grin when finding the Joker card, and placed it on the body of my father. Closing the door to my dingy bedroom, I realized that the pain I felt my entire life was gone. I was born to be a killer.

_**Great, now we get to back into real life and see what Gordon and the Joker… or Jack, have to say about what he just told Officer Gordon. **_

Gordon gazed at me with disapproving eyes, and I just smirked. I had repeated my thought process, the memories that tortured me every waking moment of my life. It felt as if I was on the verge of a mental breakdown, but I wasn't even sure that I had a sane mind to lose. If you break insanity… what happens next?

"So… what do you think of that?" I asked with a mocking voice, as I stared right at him. He was weighing the words; he has heard so many alterations of this story. He has witnessed me question countless people, "Do you want to know how I got these scars"… but this was true. All of what I said is true, now would he believe it?

"What I think is you're a sad man stuck in a sad life." He answered; I scoffed and snorted, still staring right at him.

"Me, sad? Where did you get that from?" I asked, pretending I was offended, pretending that I gave a damn as to why he thought I was 'sad'. He knew that I was only mocking him, but still he continued to answer my question.

"You're sitting here in makeup and a nurse outfit, for one… and you kill people for pleasure." I shrugged my shoulders; I guess he did have a point. He was practically looking at a drag queen at the moment, and it was quite embarrassing. "I've also heard that story before, Jack, how quick did it take for you to come up with the details?" I smiled at him, sickeningly sweet, and laughed heartily.

"Oh, so you don't believe me now? Let me ask you something. What influenced you into being nothing but a city cop? Did your daddy get locked behind bars when you were younger? I bet you had dreams, every kid has dreams… and this is what you become?" He laughed sarcastically and I smiled smugly.

"I ask the questions, you give me the answers, _true _answers." I gasped, pretending to be insulted that he still didn't believe me, like he would anyway.

"That's such a shame, Gordon. No one has every trusted me, why can't you?" I whimpered quite well, "Oh, poor pitiful me!"

"I think we're done here-"

"Wait!" I cried, Gordon groaned and slowly turned to face me once again, his eyes hesitantly shifted to my painted face. "Can I have my phone call?" I ask sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes.

"Last time you asked that, you ended up exploding a warehouse and killing your hostages."

"One survived, the other was _Batman's _fault. No one has heard from the psycho in ages. There's no reason why I would want to _blow something up._" I growled, forcing out the name that I loathed. The high and mighty Batman, I wonder what he's up to now….

Gordon looked clearly annoyed with my smart-ass quip. He ran his hand threw his hair in frustration and looked exhausted. I wonder how bad of a headache he had right now.

"Fine, one phone call," I smirked and he lead me to the phone. I began to dial a set of numbers, a phone number that took me quite awhile to remember at the top of my head. I punched in 1-857-696-0413 slowly and took my time, and listened to it ring.

"They want to speak to you," I chirped, Gordon rose his eyebrows and I smiled. He slowly took the phone, and listened to the voice on the other end. As his curiosity and shock was appearing in his facial expression. I could barely hear the voice over the phone, my voice, hoarse and maniacal.

"James, you should've remembered not to come here alone, when will you ever learn? Not a smart move, for an officer, is it, James? Maybe Batman will come to save the day, but for all we know, he could be dead. Let's hope your hero in tights comes to your rescue," As he turned to ask me what that was about, or that's what I presumed he would have done, I lifted my arms and wrapped the chain link of the cuffs around his neck. I strangled him with the links, and held my leg against his to keep him from moving.

"You're not getting away this time," I growled angrily in his ear. I could hear his struggled breathing as I choked him. I could feel his struggles to get away begin to cease, and I cackled crazily.

"Why? When will _you_ ever learn, Jack?" Gordon forced from his strangled vocal chords. I tried to ignore his words, yet I couldn't. Why do the dramatic scenes get to people all the time?

'No, don't listen to him; he's just a fruit loop.' I told myself, but I was the 'fruit loop', I was the crazy one. I released my hold and watched him as he collapsed. He was out cold; I had time to get away.

Quickly, I grabbed the cuff key and used my mouth to unlock my right hand. After doing so, I freed my left hand of the restraints, and ran down the hall with an almost scared scurry. I searched for a uniform in the darkness of the closet, feeling my way through the storage closet. I ended up finding a janitor's outfit, it resembled scrubs, but I didn't care. It's better than a nurse outfit, anyway.

When I was in the new outfit, I tied my hair back with a rubber band, and skidded to the door. I turned to Gordon once more, he was still passed out.

"Sorry it had to turn out this way," I said, there were no cards this time.

As I walked out of the police station, appearing almost like a normal human being, I gazed around the cold winter evening. People looked happy; I could hear people whispering, people laughing. I stared at the sky and laughed a real laugh for once. For the first time in my life, I had a plan. All because of Gordon, as weird as that may be.

I made my way to the "Batman Tower" and slowly made my way to the top. By the time I had reached the rooftop, I knew that this was the best decision. I shivered as I made my way to the light, and flicked the switch. I gazed at the Batman symbol that glowed angrily in the sky. My enemy, I was surrendering to my enemy, but in a way I wasn't.

I sighed, pacing anxiously as I awaited the arrival of Gotham's hero. Soon I heard footsteps behind me, and I slowly turned, seeing the one, the only; Batman. For once I actually felt fear as I stood by him. What would happen to me once I did this?

"What are you doing?" He asked me, in that phony voice of his he has. I sighed and stared at him coldly.

"I have a question to ask," I said, he was actually taking me seriously. "I would… like to surrender. In hopes of something else."

"What would that be?" He asked me. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Can I work with you?" Batman stared at me and laughed sarcastically, but then realized I was being serious.

"What… influenced you to do this?" I shrugged my shoulders and laughed hysterically.

"A man who wishes me dead."

I guess you could say sanity is what comes after insanity. It's ironic, that my story both begins and ends with a man who wishes me dead. But maybe a little laughter, maybe a little bit of me, could help bring this chaotic world we live in to what we need it to be.

Fin.


End file.
